Kindred of the Fallen (13 page)

She threw the door open and hopped out of the helicopter. “We’re going to eat and talk, right?”

He recoiled, brow furrowed. Then he nodded slowly and got out, slamming the door.

The sharp tension bubbling in their joined stream grated, but she couldn’t allow her resolve to be fractured.
 

She crossed the front of the helicopter and he extended his hand. Biting her lip, she stuffed her hands into her pockets, avoiding eye contact. He let out a huff and led the way to the house, glancing at her every few steps. She walked beside him, keeping at least an arm’s length of space between them to prevent accidental touching, or a spontaneous make-out session that would have her spreading her legs, crooning for more.

If she was going to get any answers, she couldn’t let him touch her.

In the courtyard, he held the door to the house open for her. “Are you all right?”

The real question she guessed he wanted to ask rang clearly through his frustrated tone. Why was she avoiding physical contact? She decided to pass on the embarrassment of telling him that his touch was the sweetest distraction she’d ever known, erasing all cares and concerns for anything else, including the questions stacking up in her mind. “I’m fine.”

He guided her through the dining room past a round hand-carved table big enough for eight and into the conservatory where a table had been set up with linen and silverware. With a shaky smile, he pulled out her chair and waited until she sat.

The conservatory would offer a spectacular view of the property in the daylight.

He removed his weapons and set them on the floor.

A woman in her sixties wheeled a cart into the room. She wore glasses and had a bun the color of burnt umber streaked white. The older woman’s aura, muted colors blending to striated gray, glared in contrast to the sunbeam framing Cyrus. She was human.

“Serenity, this is our beloved Mrs. Carter,” he said, shoulders relaxing, tone lightening. “We’d starve without her.”

The older woman poured two glasses of white wine. “That’s not true. Abbadon would cook until you found a replacement for me.”

“You know you’re irreplaceable,” he said. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“It’s about time Cyrus brought a lady to the house for me to cook for.” She gave Cyrus a motherly smile and rested a gentle hand on Serenity’s shoulder.

A bolt of awareness and comprehension illuminated in her mind, the way it had over the years whenever she met someone; a ruffle in her energy stream tickled her chest and ribs. She and Mrs. Carter would get along splendidly. Yet her internal barometer didn’t work on the others. Maybe she could only read humans.

Mrs. Carter broke into the puffy, golden tower of a mouthwatering soufflé with a spoon, put piping hot mounds of seafood on two plates, and added a serving of salad on the side. She set a bucket of ice with the wine bottle next to Cyrus. “Cassian took the dogs with him into the city, so no need to worry about letting them outside. Don’t forget, I won’t be back until Wednesday, but there are meals in the fridge.” With a smile, she left.

“She seems very sweet,” Serenity said.

“She truly is irreplaceable, practically family. Her kids live on the West Coast and her husband died a few years back. I think we fill a void for her.”

Serenity tasted the soufflé. Creamy and scrumptious, it was the ultimate comfort food. “This is fantastic.”

He grinned. “I thought you might like it.”

The crisp, light flavor of the wine complemented the richness of the meal. She was indubitably happy, weightless as a feather, but questions gnawed at her. “If we’re not human, then what are we?”

“Something else. Something more.”

“How have Kindred, I mean, how have we managed to live without humans finding out about us?”

“We’re meticulous about embedding ourselves in all layers of society and cleaning up or hiding anything that could expose us.”

“Like crazed Kindred on a rampage?”

He nodded. “Exactly.”

“But those mercenaries know about us.”

“When we come across them, we do our best to bag them and wipe them clean. The Council of Herut wants us to preserve human life whenever possible. They haven’t tried to expose us and we haven’t revealed to the authorities any of the illicit activities that would destroy Gallacom Industries.”

She sipped the chilled wine. “Tell me about the ancients we’re descended from.”

“I guess I should start with Nefertiti.”

“One of the queens of Ancient Egypt?”

He nibbled his food. “Nefertiti discovered the ancients. Human form, neither male nor female. Superior intelligence and abilities no human had.” He spoke as if he were recounting a bedtime story he’d heard many times. “At some point, she learned there were thirteen of them.”

“Where did they come from?”

“They described their existence in terms of millennia and were all that had remained after the others had been washed away before the Creator started anew.”

“With humans?”

He nodded. “I believe so.”

“Why were they destroyed?”

“They had grown vain and full of hubris, and wanted to be gods themselves. They had done wicked things to subjugate the other creatures of the earth.”

The idea stirred a vague memory, nothing solid, only dust in her mind. Fragments of an intriguing tale her father had once told about mystical beings.

“Nefertiti consulted three of her most trusted priests, Ravich, Seshata and Tholitis on what to do with the beings. The priests offered to give them the status of gods in exchange for knowledge, promising thousands would worship them. They taught Nefertiti and her priests about heka or magic, and helped them create a spell of immortality.”

She chuckled, nearly choking on a swallow of food. “Nefertiti and her priests became immortal? Never growing old and living forever?”

“Nefertiti and her three priests never grow old and as it seems may never die.” His gaze didn’t waver.

She raised her eyebrows, willing to go along with the story, but not yet a believer.

“The beings were worshiped as gods, but their hunger for power was insatiable. They had great monuments erected in their image and human sacrifices as tributes. They provoked the Creator’s wrath once more and were punished.”

The first time her father had told her the tale of the mystical beings, he’d cut a Mobius strip down the middle. Instead of two separate pieces, it became one long strip with two full twists. He’d told her after it was split, it had become something different. “Their punishment the second time was worse than death, wasn’t it?”

“They were engulfed in fire. Their bodies burned, but weren’t consumed. Once the flames died out, thirteen female and thirteen male bodies remained—they became the Fallen.”

This was the story her father had told. Not fiction. The truth of it echoed in her soul.

“Each pair was marked, their powers divided,” Cyrus continued, “but they were also tormented with the affliction of blood rage and the dark veil until their souls could be redeemed.”

“Spero said we were Blessed, capable of ending the suffering.”

“To be Blessed means we are the re-embodiment of a Fallen pair, the reincarnation of one of the original beings who fell from grace and was split.”

Her fork slipped from her hand and clattered on the plate. She smoothed her hair back as her mind tussled with the farfetched idea of reincarnation.

Cyrus finished his glass of wine and poured more. “The Creator declared only the re-embodiment of a Fallen pair could break the curse.”

“How?”

A shaky smile danced on his lips as he fiddled with his large hands, running a long finger across a gold ring with a green seal where a wedding band would rest, and his self-assured exterior cracked. He opened his mouth to speak.

“You better not tell me it’s complicated,” she said, wagging a finger.

“The Blessed union has to overcome tribulations, daring to sacrifice for the greater good. Ultimately, we have to reunify the split soul of the Fallen, restoring what was severed.”

“That was a mouthful, yet, I’m still unclear.”

He went for more wine, but the bottle was empty. “Shall we take a walk?”

They strolled outside through the courtyard. The temperature had dropped a couple of degrees, but the cool breeze refreshed her.

Wind rustling the autumn leaves masked the silence between them. The back of her hand brushed his arm. Their fingers gravitated toward each other and locked together as they entered the woods. A little innocent hand-holding. Friends could hold hands.

“It’s rare to be Blessed, to have a mark of the Fallen like us, and even more extraordinary to have a
kabashem
.”

“I thought everyone has a
kabashem
.”

He gave a rueful chuckle. “Think of a soul as everlasting energy harnessed in the shell of a body.
Kabashem
are two halves of one soul, separated into different bodies. Before you were born, your energy existed somewhere in another plane.”

“Heaven?” she asked, trying to wrap her mind around the concept.

“If you want to call it that, but it has many names to us. While you were pure energy in that other plane, without a physical form here, you still existed. I had a
kabashem
, just not here where I could connect with you. For those of us who are Blessed, it’s been rare for both halves of a soul to exist in this plane with a physical form at the same time. Besides us, there’ve only been three other Blessed couples. All died in unfortunate accidents.”

“Good thing Blessed couples are rare. Sounds more like a curse.”

The light in Cyrus’s face shifted and a shadow fell on his features. Her heart throbbed at having killed the enthusiasm in his eyes. His lips parted slightly and she waited for him to speak, but he only gaped at her.

She squeezed his hand. “What is it?”

“To have a mark of the Fallen is a blessing. Ordeal is often a price one must pay for being special, but it doesn’t outweigh the reward.”

An image of her father shooting himself flashed in her mind. “I know all about ordeal and paying for every good thing that comes along.” She pulled her hand from his.

He was perfect, like his house and explanation of soul mates. People should come with price tags or warning labels so a person could make a fair choice. Every beautiful, precious thing in her life had come at a price. If she chose to take a leap into the unknown with this incredible man, how much would she have to give? “What’s the reward in being Blessed among your people if they only end up dying some horrible death?”

He clutched her hand and stroked her hair. “Hope and redemption are worth everything.”

His fingers tightened around hers, but her body craved a more intimate connection, and the burgeoning ache inside of her worsened. The depth of familiarity tugging at her was akin to that of a long lost love, not someone she just met, but no matter how many times she silently repeated
stranger
, her gut drove her to embrace him as someone who belonged in her life.

They circled back toward the house, and the scent of citrus saturated the air. Her thoughts clung to her father, the sound of his laughter. How his smile lit up his rich brown face, brightening the gloomiest day. Her mother’s smile burned through, scorching the pleasant reminiscence. Her mother had smelled of sweet roses and spicy ginger, her skin—soft ivory like marshmallows.

Woe hit her and her skin grew hot as if set aflame. How she hated
that woman
.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, straining to keep her voice light.

“Then why are you so sad and angry?”

She stopped. “How do you know that? You were very specific.”

Cyrus released a sigh. “
Kabashem
are connected in a way that allows us to sense what the other is feeling. Sometimes we misinterpret the experience and think it’s our own emotion rather than our partner’s, but it usually happens gradually, after being together for many years.”

“I’ve picked up glimmers of your feelings. Can you feel my emotions clearly?”

“Only when they’re very intense.”

“I’ve been on an intense roller coaster ride since I met you.”

He nodded and curled his arm around her shoulder as they meandered into the house. “Would you like a cognac?”

A strong drink sounded perfect. “Sure.”

They strolled up to his room and Cyrus lit a fire. The amber light cast a romantic glow.

She sat on the leather sofa and curled her legs under her. The four-poster bed peeked from the cracked door of the adjoining room. She tore her gaze from the lavish bed and refocused on her questions. “Whatever happened to the immortals?”

“Nefertiti had all monuments of the ancient beings torn down and any record of their existence stricken from the library. Then she and her priests left Egypt, taking the transformed beings with them.”

He poured two glasses of golden liquid. “They travelled for a few years, before settling in Rekhem, which you know as Petra in Jordan today. They built a city in the sandstone cliffs.”